[ t i c k t i o n a r y { b a t c a v e } ]

[ wagonwatching ]

{ 9 . 7 . 9 8 }

Chinese astrology has the Years of the Horse, of the Rat, of the Rooster. Heck, they even have the Year of the Sheep.

I wonder if they have the Year of the Wagon?

If not, I'd like to start that now. This year for me has been chocked full of wagons. Earlier in the year, I kept people off of the Stars bandwagon. I jumped off of the Rangers bandwagon after seeing the iceberg that loomed in the horizon. And now, I am a nervous passenger on the once-crowded Dallas Cowboy bandwagon. Right now, it's kinda empty, except for me perched just over JD's shoulder as he drives us into the new season. Oh sure, there are the loonies at the back of the bus, but they had their tickets punched long ago.

Sunday, the trip began.

All pre-season, people had been eyeing the bandwagon, kicking the tire, saying there was no tread left on the tires and the wheels were due to shoot off. There were more bangs in the bus than on it. I looked around and hoped the old girl would hold up for another season's worth of beating.

Sunday, we hit the road.

This was suppose to be the rough road. This was supposed to be where we found that the pre-season was the premonition of the downfall. Instead, there was new life found in the old girl. There was a new spark, a new fire. The bandwagon wound through the first stretch of road with a roar.

But just when things looked rosy, the road up ahead winds up into foreboding mountains. The guys in the back of the bandwagon are leaving the windows down saying, "Bring it on!"

Me? I shake my head and sigh, keeping my eyes on the temperature gage. Here's where things heat up.